


Bringer of Nightmares

by littleblue_eyedbird



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Companions, F/M, Fen'Harel - Freeform, Guilt, Heartbreak, Nightmares, Regrets, Solavellan, The Fade, friendships, solas x lavellan - Freeform, the dread wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblue_eyedbird/pseuds/littleblue_eyedbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has fled the Inquisition after the final fight with Corypheus. He finds himself plagued with memories of the companions he left behind.</p><p>For Solas Positivity Week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bringer of Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> found on tumblr at: http://littleblue-eyedbird.tumblr.com/post/123648883763/solas-friendships

The cool, evening breeze caressed Solas’ face as he moved quickly through the thick forest; he had not let himself rest since he fled the Inquisition, eager to put much distance between him and Skyhold. He let his mind wander for a few moments, pondering how long it would take for any of his former companions to notice his absence? He hoped that his trail would be difficult to follow, should anyone try to seek him out. Leliana was a talented spymaster, he would give her that, but he had taken extra precautions to cover his tracks; he was adamant that even she would not be able to find him, for now. He slowed his pace as a trickling stream appeared before him. A great oak tree had grown next to it, and its spacious roots were beckoning to him to lay his head for the night. He set down his pack at the tree’s base, and finally stretched. Only then did the overwhelming feeling of tiredness and the familiar ache of strained muscles set in. He could not keep moving at the pace he was going forever, and decided that now was a good a time as ever to let himself recover. With a wave of his hand, a bedroll sprawled itself out before him. He lowered himself down, and let his head rest on his pack. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes, preparing to the let the pull of the fade lull him to sleep.

But the dreams he tried to envision would not come.

Instead, Solas found himself wandering the maze of battlements atop of Skyhold, alone. A booming laugh echoed to his right as a door appeared. Distracted by the noise, he let himself through. The door led into the rotunda that he had grown so comfortable in.  He stared at the man seated at his desk; it was Blackwall. His laugh rang throughout the rotunda once more as he laid his playing cards neatly down in front of him, staring directly at Solas. Solas froze.

“You sly bastard. You had a winning hand the whole time. You deceived me from the start!”

A warm smile spread across Blackwall’s face, “No wonder you don’t play Wicked Grace with us, you’d have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. Josephine wouldn’t stand a chance!”  

Solas felt his stomach sink, he couldn’t reciprocate the smile Blackwall was offering him, it was too friendly, too warm, too much. He didn’t deserve it. He backed out of the rotunda the way he came, slamming the door behind him. Eager to get away from that uncomfortable memory, he wandered off in another direction, shaking away Blackwall’s lingering laughter. The fade abruptly changed around him, leading him into the Tavern before he could stop himself. He came to pause before Bull and his chargers. They were chugging ale out of tankards the size of mabari heads, engaged in some sort of frivolous drinking game.

“Ah there he is!” Bull called out to Solas, slamming his giant tankard down on the table in front of him, motioning for Solas to take the stool beside him.

“Come, have a drink, or four. If I recall the last time I weaseled you into drinking you held your own pretty damn well.”

A roar from the chargers erupted around the bar as the barmaid returned with two giant pitchers to refill all their glasses. Tightness began to coil in Solas’ chest, an unnamed emotion, one he could not place, burned in his gut.

“Sit Solas,” Bull bribed, eyeing the barmaid as she refilled his drink, “You owe me a rematch anyway. I was having an off game. Time to determine who the  _real_  chess master is.”

Solas felt himself stumbling backwards again, remorse spreading across his face, he grasped for the tavern door and pushed his way out. He could hear Bulls’ voice calling out behind him, but he tried to ignore it. Solas’ head was beginning to throb, why was he dwelling on these memories?  With his free hand, he rubbed his temple. He did not get more than a few paces before he collided into another person.

“Ah just the unwashed apostate I was looking for!” Dorian’s lighthearted jest interrupted Solas’ thoughts.

He recoiled as Dorian grasped his shoulder, preventing him from moving too far. He shoved a tome under his nose.

“I’ve been dissecting this passage all morning, and I need a fresh pair of eyes that are actually attached to a kindred intellectual mind to peruse this text. Your opinion on this particular application of magic would be the basis of a grand debate, don’t you think?” The Tevinter’s eyes danced with delight at the prospect of a battle of wits.

Solas recalled fondly how he had frequently engaged in Dorian’s challenges, as they often ended in deep discussions with both parties equally enlightened by the end. Remembering the countless conversations, the smell of ancient tomes, and crackling of veil fire only fueled the constricting sensation in his chest, his legs felt like lead as he tried to shift away from his former friend.

Solas hastily pushed the book back into Dorian’s hands, why were his dreams taunting him so?

“What? Sleeping beauty didn’t get enough sleep and is not on his game today? Tsk Tsk, looks like you’ll have to forfeit! Wait, Solas, where are you going?” A disappointed expression broke across Dorian’s face as watched Solas bolt from the library, heading for the stairs.

Solas was flying down the steps, two a time, running away from the strange kinships he never thought he would have formed. Unnecessary attachments, emotional entanglements, those were the words he remembered using to warn himself from getting too close.

The spiral stair case was never ending; he was just starting to get dizzy from the constant cycle when he saw a landing approaching. Dread weighed down on his shoulders when he saw that Cole was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. He was standing in front of the door, blocking his way. Solas tried to push past the spirit, but Cole caught his sleeve.

“Turn around. He can help. They can help. Turn back.”

Solas ripped his sleeve from Cole’s grasp, “No, they cannot Cole. This is not something they can aid me in, nor would I ask it of them.”

He briskly threw open the door only to discover more stairs. When he finally got to bottom of this set, Cole reappeared at the landing in front of the door once more.

“Trust them. You don’t want to hurt them. You won’t.”

“You cannot know that, Cole. Simply because I wish not to harm them, does not mean that I still might. Please, let this go.”

He sidestepped Cole for the second time, and shouldered the next door open. He was in the middle of the Great Hall of Skyhold, surrounded by members of the Inquisition. The sudden burst of movement coupled with the bang of wood against stone caught the attention of Vivienne, Cassandra and Varric, who up until that point were arguing.

“Ah Chuckles, maybe you can resolve this.”

“Solas, please—“ Cassandra began, her voice being cut off by another calling his name. Suddenly, a chorus of voices, all talking over each other were trying to get his attention He heard Blackwall’s rumbling laugh again, Dorian’s insistent requests, the thump of books as Dagna dropped a pile at his feet,  Bull yelling chess moves, Varric and Cassandra asking him questions, Vivienne questioning why he would even care to answer them, and Cole whispering pleadingly his ear. It was suffocating; they were all around him, eyes begging for answers, curiosity, confusion, and pain all were being reflected back at him. It was too painful to look upon these memories, to be trapped in these dreams. Why couldn’t he escape them?

His chest was wound so tight, he thought he might burst. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“ENOUGH!” Solas roared, his hands balling into fists.

Everything faded as Solas attempted to reclaim his dream.

A lush forest floor replaced the cold stones beneath his feet, the décor of the hall melted away into towering pines, and the light from the fires burned out to reveal a clear night sky. He sighed, finally something he could control. He walked around a bend to the edge of the tree line, still pent up from the chaos of the previous scene, and discovered a campsite. The leftover embers from the campfire still faintly glowing as he cautiously got closer, realizing that he was still in a memory. One of the tents lit up with colorful magic, and a shriek emanated from within. Suddenly the flaps of the tents burst open and a sandy haired elf leapt out yelling profusely.

“Shite. Shite. Maker Damnit. Fuck this magic shite.” Sera frantically hopped from foot to foot as she brushed off motes of magical light from her clothes.

“Solas if this yer way of pranking me back for the lizards, it ain’t funny!” She kicked the other tent adjacent to the one she had exited.

“Don’t even pretend your sleeping; I know what you two elfy-elfs are doing in there.” She kicked the tent again for good measure and stomped away, muttering something about “rebuilding the empire” under her breath. Then, he heard it.

Lavellan’s laugh.

In that fleeting moment, the burning sensation in his body peaked, the tightness in chest constricting at the memory of her laugh caused Solas to lose his breath. It echoed off to his left, and then on the right. It rang out clear in his mind, oh how he had memorized every incantation of her laugh; how it started off with quiet snickers and grew into a hearty ring, pitching up at the end. He struggled to tune it out, to forget what it sounded like, but no avail. It echoed in every direction. Frantically, he darted into the woods, weaving in and out of trees, trying to escape it. He was about to give up, fall to his knees and endure the sound when the trees split before him, revealing a magnificent meadow bathed in starlight. He heard her voice once more, but this time she was humming. It was sweet, enthralling, and completely entrancing, leading him into the opening.

Sitting in the middle of the field of flowers was Lavellan, humming to herself, aimlessly picking beautiful flowers. Moonlight flooded her features, illuminating her smooth skin, emphasizing the elegant the way her hair was loosely braided back. The simple melody was haunting and beautiful. Agony seared inside him again as he studied her, watching graceful fingers string the bouquet of flowers she had collected with a ribbon she pulled from her hair. His eyes followed the tendrils as they unfolded from their braids, uncoiling and cascading down her back. She arose, wisps of hair billowing in a distant breeze, as she cast her gaze in his direction. The humming stopped as a noise of surprise left her lips.  A mixture of joy and aguish twisted across her face as the flowers fell from her fingers.   
  


“Vhenan! You’ve come back!” Her voice cried out, as she began to run to him.

“No! No, no!”

Solas felt himself backing up, raising his hands signaling her to stop.

“I can’t, Vhenan. I ….can’t”

How badly he would have loved to accept the embrace she was so willingly ready to give; but he knew if he did, it would break him. The horrified look on her face as she halted a few feet in front of him ripped him apart. Regret and guilt flared up full force in in chest as he watched her heart shatter for the second time before him, sorrow and disbelief welling in her eyes. He was reliving it all over again.

“I’m…sorry…” Was all he could manage.

He tore off out of the glen, hot tears stinging in his eyes, obscuring his vision.

_Wake. Up._

He was the fabled bringer of nightmares, roamer of the beyond, and he couldn’t even escape his own creations.

_Wake. Up._

He was torturing himself, now aware of the guilt he had been trying so valiantly to repress.

 _Wake. UP_.

Fen’Harel bolted up from this bed roll, palms pressed to his eyes. He felt the hot tears present on his face and crawled towards the stream. He plunged his hands into the cool, refreshing water; cupping a small portion in his palms proceeding to splash it onto his face. He washed away the painful memories, and guilt. Slowly, he let his fingers trail down his cheeks, allowing the evening breeze tingle on his wet skin. He stared down at the stream, struggling to reclaim his breath. There would be no sleeping tonight as all his past regrets were bound to resurface, tainting his dreams. He watched the reflection of the full moon quiver in the water, its shape twisting and contorting with the current. He focused only on the ripples, steeling his nerves and calming his mind. He breathing returned to normal but the sweat that drenched is back and brow was chilling him, sending shivers down his spine.

He let his gaze wander up at the impressive view of the sky. All the stars were shining brilliantly, crystalline and clear. His heart ached for those he left behind, he foolishly let himself get attached. He deserved these nightmares for what he had done, and for what he was going to do.  He wondered if sleep was evading any of the people he might have once considered friend as well. He could not shake the feeling that he was not the only one gazing longingly upon the same night sky tonight.


End file.
